The Colfax chronicle. [volume] (Colfax, Grant Parish, La.) 1877-1981, 1887-03-05

dear to him who had met the like mis1or-
tune.
sTf can be of any service to you," he
began. But he did not finish. for the
mothers eyes were fixed on him, and only
respect for his evident good intentions pre-
vented the fash Of defiant anger from
them. They were splendid eyes, as Uncle
Charlie has said many time since, and is
'sThis is very awkward" she said at
length. 81 could cry, but it is better to
laugh. You mnst be aware that can not,
under such peculiar circumstances, make q
confident Of q stranger. And l can mean
no disrespect to one whom never saw be-
fore, if say that can not become indebted
to you, sir, for any thing. / hope I am still
entitled to think myself q lady"
Every inch a lady," thought Uncle
Charlie. --s
Sand must therefore thank you for the
kindness you intended -n
Poor and proud, /" thought Uncle Charlie
"And bid you good morning."
Done like q queen, thought Uncle
Charlie, as he rose, and found his watch
and money still safe. II have two requests
to make Of you," he said, ''since you will
receive nothing of me-"
81 am ready to hear,n she said That
much, she thought. is due to your good in
| tentions, If you had them, and you do not
| look like bad man Uncle Charlie looked
like any thing else. He said:
lone is that you shall not reprimand or
punish my enigma for bringing me here"
ssThe other that you will allow me to call
again."
The lady shook her head
'sWith my sister this afternoon"
The lady considered a moment. 81 am
very much embarrassed she said, 'sst this
| it will not do to suspect everybody, though
Heaven knows have reason enough. A
shade Of deep sadness came over her face.
'You are certainly very handsome"
| thought Uncle Charlie, as he took his leave,
Hs da not aS s for Nsw s
watch AMI purse till he was clear Of the
court. Still finding the integrity Of his
pockets preserved, he walked briskly away,
full Of curiosity and determined to satisfy
it if possible.
1t is an agreeable amusement, as you walk
along the streets, to speculate upon the in
habitants Of the houses and to people them
with folks of your own fancying; to imagine
who ought to live in this house and who in
that, to preserve the unities. Uncle Charlie
would, no doubt, have INDUCED in such day
dreams if his head had not been full of the
for its very simplicity as fairy bower;
with its remarkable child and the quiet
lady-like, sef-possessed mother. The tene-
| ment had, to Philadelphia, nothing mo-
ticeable about it. It was one of those small
houses peculiar to the Quaker City, with
the street door opening directly into the
best room, with very narrow front and not
much depth. But it was one house, whole
house, though small for one family; such q
1 tenement as widow could have have all to
herself at small cost, or clerk or other man
OF modest means might occupy, and not be
forced into o mixed residence with other
| people.
And the furniture had evidently been re-
moved here from q place more commodious.
The piano took up more than its fair share
OF one side Of the room; and other articles
said, as plainly as they could speak, that
they were never purchased for their pres
emit quarters. These things were not the
| puzzle of the place for Uncle Charlie. What
did that child mean by taking him home
with her! And what did the mother mean
had only entertained him with q plausible
story ,Ihe would have understood at once that
the whole thing was palpably trap.
While Uncle Charlie walks and wonders
we will slip on before him to the house
where he would have been long before, il
the little enigma had not beguiled him out
Of the way.
Here, too, were the evidences that the in
mates had seen more cheerful days. But
none OF the thousands who passed the mod
est mansion, scrupulously neat could have
within The well-washed marble steps were
kept so by compromise with the single
woman of all work That functionary took
turn at street sweeping, window washing
and passenger gazing, while her mistress
supplied, for time, her place within doors.
And thus the house was managed, as many
such are in the "Quaker City" 1t is a para
disc for people of limited income, and for
the poor and respectable, where by decent
hctions in housekeeping, and laudable hypo-
crisy, good appearance may still be made;
and honest, self-respect may be preserved
after the wealth which once made all things
easy has slipped away.
In that house q cheerful voice had broken
everybody's slumber betimes, with "Happy
New Year! Happy New Yeari" OF course
it was child's voice. Children are the last
to learn that it is proper and sensible to mar
our present by regrets over the past And
it was boys voice; for little girls, like
our strange friend Edith, will sometimes
acquire precocious and unchild-like knowl-
edge Of the worlds cares and perplexities.
Girls are more discerning in many things
more wise, more prudent than boys. They are
admitted behind the scenes in the little
drama Of domestic acting, in which the fam
lily ''weep as though they wept not" Boys
know less than girls. And so do men than
women, think. But then am a woman.
Uncle Charlie called this little boy his moth
er's sunshine" And so he was. All chill
dren, in some degree, deserve the name, but
it was little Geordie's prominently. God,
in His wisdom, has made these little ones
angels in the house. They will see only the
bright side. Little sorrows afflict them, but
their tears pass over like April showers, and
they will not be defrauded of the happiness
that is left, and are willing to be pleased
still, after all reverses and disappoint-
ments." set
If little Geordie was sssunshine'' to his
uncle, Uncle Charlie was the whole solar
system to his nephew. The boy lived in his
uncle's light. His mother was dear to him,
very dear. But then mother was with him
always, and Uncle Charlie came in like the
wonder in fairy story, just when he was
was rsad, and often perplexed, and
though always kind, sometimes slow to
answer the thousand questions of child
hood. But Uncle Charlie was always
picked, for nothing could puzzle him. o,
mol And as to Questions he ALWAYS an